Loving Lord Ash Page 11

  Lady Heldon examined Jess rather as she imagined a hungry cat might examine a mouse. “And who is your lovely companion?” She tittered. “Or can you not present her to me?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Pelthurst said. “You may not be able to introduce the gal to Imogen, Ashton, but Hal and I would very much like to make her acquaintance. We’re always looking for another comely armful—when you are done with her of course.”

  Lord Hallington nodded. “We’ve just finished up a rousing good party—Imogen here came over from your mother’s do and assures me my gathering was far more enjoyable.” He winked at Kit. “Why don’t you and your companion sample Belmont’s ale with us and then come back to my estate? Five is a good start on a second gathering, I’d say. Your friend would be a lovely addition to our games.”

  Good God, was this the sort of behavior she had to look forward to in London? She should set Kit—her dog, Kit—on them, but she didn’t want to distress their horses. At least Kit, her husband, was also furious. His arm felt like steel; his nostrils flared.

  “This lady,” he said, his voice tight with anger, “is my wife, the Marchioness of Ashton.”

  All three dropped their jaws as one. Jess had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “I’m sure you will understand when I tell you I do not wish to introduce her to you. Now if you will excuse us? Her dog has been patiently awaiting his walk.”

  With that he turned and led her away.

  Chapter Eight

  Good advice can be found in surprising places.

  —Venus’s Love Notes

  “I’m sorry you were subjected to those three, Jess.” Sorry hardly began to describe his emotions. He was disgusted and angry—and insulted anyone would think he, a married man, would parade a paramour around a country village.

  Well, yes, many married men probably did just that and Jess had said she’d heard rumors that he was among their number, but he’d truly thought everyone expected him to hold to a higher standard. He was the son of the Duke of Greycliffe, after all, who was famous for being madly in love with and completely faithful to his wife.

  Though perhaps people could be forgiven for not thinking him madly in love. Because he wasn’t. Not precisely. But he was a man of his word. He took his marriage vows seriously—and perhaps he would be free to love his wife madly if this experiment or trial or whatever it was with Jess worked out.

  He looked over at her. She was studying the ground. It was true the walkway was littered with the normal filth of village life—dust and mud and dog droppings—but navigating the mess didn’t require quite so much concentration.

  Blast it, he remembered that expression. He’d seen it often enough when she was a girl. Her jaw was set and her lips were forced up into a tight smile. She’d always been determined not to show pain when someone hurt her. She was far more likely to laugh than cry.

  Guilt and remorse cramped his belly.

  Now Jess’s dog was sniffing rather too intently near a shop’s doorway. That would be a disaster. In his experience, the bigger the animal, the bigger the, er, deposit. He pulled on the lead and persuaded the beast to move along. He did hope Jess’s pet could control himself until they reached the fields he saw up ahead.

  “I’m used to people thinking the worst of me,” Jess said, “though it’s true I rarely have to hear it to my face.”

  Zeus, no matter how many times he insisted she’d brought on her own exile, he couldn’t forgive himself for leaving her at the manor and making her the target of such gossip.

  “You should not have been subjected to them. They all three skate on the very edge of respectability; Lady Heldon is hardly better than a light-skirt. I cannot imagine what provoked my mother to invite her to the house party.”

  Jess glanced at him. “Perhaps your mother thought you’d enjoy the woman’s company.” Her tone left little doubt as to what sort of enjoyment she meant.

  Bloody hell! Did Jess truly think him—and his mother—so base?

  “She did not invite her for me. Mama’s goal is matchmaking, and she is very much aware that I am already matched.”

  “To her—and your—dismay.”

  What was Jess’s point? “Yes. Of course she’s unhappy about our situation. She’s the Duchess of Love, not misery. She doesn’t like to see husbands and wives at odds with each other.”

  “Especially when the husband in question is her son.”

  “Yes, especially then. I think worry must come with being a mother.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Jess’s tone sounded a bit wistful, but then she frowned, her cheeks suddenly red. “That is, my mother died when I was too young to remember her.”

  A man driving a wagon down the street turned his head to gawp at Jess’s dog and almost ran into a gig coming from the other direction. The altercation caught the dog’s attention; Ash had to pull on the lead to get him to move along.

  Did Jess wish to have a child? Was that what was behind her offer to give him an heir? Motherhood had been Ellie’s goal this year, so much so that she’d been considering marrying someone other than Ned, whom she’d loved for as long as Ash could recall. But then Ned had finally come to his senses and proposed.

  Jess was two years older than Ellie; perhaps she, too, was feeling a growing desire for children. If so, she might be more willing to make their truce work.

  No, Jess was nothing like Ellie. Ellie, until this party, had been quiet and meek, while Jess had always been fiercely independent, never hesitating to speak her mind. If she wanted a child, she would say so.

  He wished she would say so. He would like to raise the issue himself, but her attention was focused straight ahead, as if she was determined not to look at him. He might—

  What the hell was he thinking? Walking on an unfamiliar street with a large dog very much in need of finding a suitable out-of-the-way spot for his needs was not the time to discuss the matter of procreation. Not to mention the fact that she was barely speaking to him.

  Unfortunately his wayward cock was very interested in pursuing that topic. Enthusiastically interested, probably obviously so. Thank God he was wearing his greatcoat.

  Suddenly Jess’s dog lifted his head from the pavement, sniffed, woofed, and lunged, jerking Ash forward.

  “Hey there, sir.” He pulled back on the lead. “Remember your manners.”

  The dog looked at him as if to beg pardon and then moved ahead again, at a pace only slightly more decorous than a run.

  Ash lengthened his stride. “How do you manage this animal, Jess? He must weigh as much as you do.”

  Jess was almost trotting to keep up. “I usually let him run off lead, if you must know.”

  “Hmm. Does he come when called?”

  “Y-yes.”

  She didn’t sound completely confident in her answer.

  “Always?” They passed the last house and started down a well-worn path. Ah, there was a stream up ahead. That must be what the dog was after.

  “Almost always.”

  Sadly, almost was not good enough. He would have to keep hold of the lead. At least the animal had found a relatively discreet place to relieve himself, off the path near a bush, safely out of the way of any unsuspecting walker’s foot.

  Ash turned away to give the beast some privacy. Jess was breathing a little heavily, causing her bodice to rise and fall—

  He must not look at her bodice.

  She’d always been able to keep up with him when they were children. She had such long legs—

  He must not think about her legs.

  So what could he think about? “Why did you name your dog Kit?”

  Jess’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she flushed slightly and laughed. “Something about him reminded me of you.”

  “Good God, what? I hope I am not large and hairy and slobbery.”

  She grinned up at him like she used to do. “You are large. And Kit doesn’t slobber so very badly.”

  Zeus. S
he looked so pretty and so achingly familiar. He wanted to—

  The lead jerked in his hand. The dog had finished his business and apparently wished to continue on to the water. Ash held firm, though his shoulder was in danger of being dislocated.

  “He’s not going to try to swim, is he?”

  “He might.”

  Damn. He would have to risk losing Jess’s pet; he did not wish to go for a swim himself. He bent and unfastened the lead.

  The dog gave a joyful bark and tore off down the hill to splash in the stream. He and Jess followed, stopping a safe distance away to watch.

  “I cannot call your dog Kit, you know.” He couldn’t even think of the dog by that name.

  “Why can’t you call him Kit, Kit?” Jess laughed.

  “You see the problem? It’s a very unpleasant echo.”

  The dog had found a stick and was bringing it their way—fortunately after shaking the water from his fur. Ash did not care to get showered.

  “Does he answer to another name?”

  Jess’s pet dropped the stick at Ash’s feet and looked up at him expectantly.

  It was more than how silly the name sounded. Jess had been the only one ever to call him Kit. It had felt special. He didn’t want to share that with an animal.

  He stooped, picked up the stick, and threw it—and watched the dog tear off in pursuit. It was probably a good idea to have him burn off some energy before spending another night in an inn bedchamber.

  “Sometimes I call him Fluff.”

  “Fluff?” The poor animal. He couldn’t call a dog that was the size of a small bear “Fluff.”

  The dog trotted back and dropped the stick at his feet again; he tossed it in a different direction.

  “He is very fluffy, especially after he’s had a bath.” Jess watched the stick sail through the air. “It goes much farther when you throw it than when I do.”

  So perhaps she hadn’t been walking the dog hand in hand with the footman. That was good. “How often do you bathe him?”

  She laughed. “When he’s rolled in something truly revolting. He likes to sleep in my bed, you know.”

  That would have to change if he and Jess settled their differences. He wanted a marriage like his parents’; he wanted Jess in his bed every single night—without her very large dog.

  Fluff dropped the stick at his feet once more. He would have to get used to that name; he’d make it up to the poor animal when they got to Greycliffe House. A nice bit of meat or a large bone should do it.

  “How long does, er, Fluff play this game?”

  “Until your arm falls off.”

  He raised his brows and looked down at her.

  “Though perhaps you will wear him out sooner, since your throws are so much farther.”

  He considered the eager dog. It really was too bad to stop, but the sun was starting to go down, and there was an increasing chill in the air. Jess was trying unsuccessfully to mask her shivering.

  If they resolved their issues, he would move to the manor and they could walk Fluff—the name became somewhat easier to stomach with repetition—regularly. Though first he would have to do something about the household staff.

  No, first he would have to reconcile with Jess.

  “Last time, Fluff.” He flung the stick as far as he could.

  Jess watched Kit bound off, barking excitedly.

  No, Fluff. Now that the real Kit was back in her life, she agreed it was confusing, and a bit disorienting, to call her dog by his name.

  Poor Fluff had always been a bit of a placeholder. Oh, she loved him for himself now, but in the beginning her feelings for him had been all mixed up with her feelings for her husband—the anger, the shame, the sadness, the longing, and the love. Now that the man was here, she could focus all those emotions where they belonged.

  Of course her feelings weren’t as raw as they’d been at first. She was older—twenty-eight instead of twenty. Far more mature.

  Except she didn’t feel more mature as she watched Kit play with her dog. She felt like a silly girl again—possibly sillier than she had been as a girl. She didn’t remember having this deep yearning before.

  Kit had lost the gangly look of boyhood. He was broader, stronger. She could rely on him—

  No. She could rely on no one but herself. To think otherwise was to invite disaster.

  Fluff came back with the stick, and Kit bent to put the lead on. “Time to go, I’m afraid, old boy.” He scratched her dog’s ears, and Fluff’s tail and entire back end wagged with happiness.

  Jess laughed. “I think Fluff is going to want to share your bed tonight instead of mine.”

  Which was exactly the wrong thing to say. She should not mention beds to Kit. He looked at her, and she knew he was remembering the bed last night, just as she was, and what he’d done to her there. And, worse, she wanted him to do it again. She wanted to share a proper bed with him and—

  She looked down at Fluff. Please, God, don’t let Kit be able to read my mind.

  “I think it’s safer if the dog stays with you,” he said.

  Ah, yes, of course he would think that. Likely there would be no room in his bed—he’d be sharing it with a barmaid. He was probably concerned Fluff would bark and cause a disturbance when he brought the girl up. She might even scream; people who didn’t know Fluff were often afraid of him.

  But if the rumors were wrong . . .

  It didn’t matter. She had to believe them, at least until she knew otherwise, or her foolish heart would have her throwing herself into Kit’s arms.

  “Why? Are you worried he’ll spoil your plans?”

  Kit gave her a puzzled look as he offered her his arm. “The only plans I have are to eat supper and go to sleep. I was thinking the dog would be protection for you in the unlikely event some fellow forced himself into your room.”

  “Oh.” So perhaps he didn’t intend to invite an accommodating light-skirt to entertain him. Good. She should let the subject drop.

  Something perverse in her, like the urge to pick at a scab, refused to do so.

  She put her fingers on his sleeve. “But dare you let Fluff be my only watchdog? Aren’t you worried I’ll lure some man into my bed?”

  His eyes widened. “That was not my thought, no.”

  Fluff was looking at them, probably wondering why they weren’t moving. He barked and pulled on his lead.

  “Perhaps you’d better stay with me again,” she said, a little breathlessly. “You don’t want to have to worry that I went astray while you were sleeping.”

  His brows snapped down into a scowl. Would he tell her he trusted her or would he decide to spend the night in her room?

  She wasn’t certain which she wanted.

  Fluff barked again, but Kit ignored him. “Have you forgotten the paper we both signed, Jess? You gave me your word you’d sleep alone, just as I promised to do the same. I trust you to honor your promise as I hope you trust me to honor mine.”

  Blast, she was losing her mind. “Yes. I’m sorry. Of course I won’t break my word.”

  Kit’s expression shifted from serious to slightly embarrassed. He clasped her shoulder in a bracing sort of way. “I know it will be hard for you, Jess, but it should only be for a month or two at the most, I should think.”

  “What will only be for a month or two?”

  “That you’ll need to give up male, er, companionship.” Kit was definitely blushing now. “Once we know you aren’t increasing, I promise to see to your needs.”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Kit thought . . . Kit was willing to . . .

  Her needs?

  She felt her face turn a burning red. She wasn’t just embarrassed, she was mortif ied . . . and she was suddenly one throbbing, quivering mass of need from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, with a few places in between threatening to explode on the spot.

  He ran a finger down her cheek. He’d taken his gloves off to deal with Fluff’s slobbery stick;
his skin was cold and slightly callused.

  “If it gets too bad, let me know, and I will try to help you like I did last night.” He smiled a bit tightly. “But I can’t do that too often. I’m afraid I don’t have unlimited self-control.”

  She nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak; at the moment she was afraid she had no self-control. She wanted to throw her arms around him, pull him down on the grass next to where Fluff now sprawled panting, and—

  She didn’t quite know what she would do, but she was certain it would involve divesting him of his clothing, which definitely would not be a good idea in such a cold and public place.

  “Perhaps your urges will subside once you are carrying my child.”

  “Ah.” Carrying his child . . .

  She was going to melt into a puddle of need right where she stood.

  “Now shall we go? Poor Fluff has been most patient.”

  She swallowed, nodded again, and placed her hand on his arm, letting him lead her back to the village. At least no one could see her lustful thoughts—

  Oh, blast! A man and his companion were staring at her.

  No, they were staring at Fluff.

  She needed to get a grip on herself.

  “I do hope the Singing Maid’s cook is better than the White Stag’s,” Kit said.

  Trust a man to think of his stomach.

  “Yes.” But it was better to think—or at least speak—about that sort of hunger than the one that was currently consuming her. Not that she remembered last night’s dinner. She’d been far too nervous to care if it had been duck or shoe leather on her plate.

  “I think it might be wisest if we eat in my room again,” Kit said. “I don’t wish to encounter Lady Heldon and her companions, do you?”

  “No, indeed.” Thinking about those three unpleasant individuals quickly cooled her blood. “I suppose it’s too much to hope they will remain in the country?”

  “I’m afraid it is. Whatever their original intentions may have been, I’d wager a significant sum they now plan to head for London as soon as possible. They must be more than eager to tell the ton they saw the Marquis of Ashton with his heretofore absent wife.” His lips twisted in disgust. “They will be the center of attention. The blasted gabble-grinders will hang on their every word.”